


Rebuild

by xxFuyukaina_Bakaxx (FindingSchmomo)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-07 10:18:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FindingSchmomo/pseuds/xxFuyukaina_Bakaxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing their parents, Alfred and Matthew are put in the care of their uncles/godparents. Unfortunately, the two hate each other. The twins just want a family, and darn it they’ll make sure they get one! FACE Family</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first sentence and last sentence of every chapter are the same. It's the strange quirk i decided to work into this story for the fun of it.

Silence reigned in the car.

The twins looked out through their respective windows, watching the scenery pass them by without really paying attention. The sun shined down on them, filling the lush landscape with its warm rays. The morning dew seemed to glitter in the light, dazzling couples out on leisurely walks through the park. People jogged, walked their dogs, and held their children's hands as they crossed the streets, all the while remaining oblivious to the inner turmoil within the car doors.

"Lovely day for a funeral." Commented the slightly senile man, who felt the atmosphere in the car was much too stuffy. He was silenced by a small jab to his side by his equally aged wife. The twins didn't respond, other than to tighten their hold on each other's hand. They had been holding hands for almost a week now.

They hadn't let go since it happened.

* * *

Their little world crumbled during English class one Tuesday morning at school.

At the time, it seemed like a normal school day. Their mother had dropped them off with a smile, reminding Alfred to play nice and for Matthew to speak up. Their father grinned at them from the driver seat, wishing them luck on their math exam before driving away.

The math test was easy, at least for Matthew it was. Multiplication came easily to him while his elder twin seemed to flounder about with his fingers. It didn't matter much; the whole math test would seem a trivial inconvenience by the end of the day.

Alfred was sprawled on the carpeted floor, his legs idly kicking through the air as he read. It was quiet reading time, and for once, he decided to behave more subdued then usually (most likely because of the bad feeling seeping in his stomach about the above mentioned math test). He read quietly about an underpants wearing hero's adventure, only interrupting the silent room with the occasional giggle or snicker.

Matthew laid a ways away, eagerly devouring a much larger book with significantly less pictures than his brother. He sat, huddled in a corner, practically unnoticeable between the wall and the bookcase. He preferred it that way.

It was in this quiet, relaxing, hum drum that their world was ripped apart forever.

There was a frantic knock at the door.

Most of the students turned their heads toward the sound, curious of the disturbance. Alfred wondered if they were getting free popsicles again. Ever since that blistering day in September when the school distributed those delicious frozen treats, Alfred had remained hopeful it would happen again. It was with this thought that he closed his book and sat up to pay attention. Matthew simply returned to his book, having come to an exciting part.

An administrator entered, motioning for their English teacher to speak with her  _outside for a moment._  The students seemed perplexed, Alfred held steadfastly to his belief that a sugary treat was in his future, and Matthew looked up. It was in that moment he locked eyes with the administrator. He'd never spoken to her, but he had seen her while walking to his third grade classroom. And yet, in those three seconds of eye contact, he felt a wave of pity hit him. His skin prickled in anxiety and he closed his book, forgetting to save the page.

Something was wrong.

He crawled over to his brother who, oblivious as ever, continued to believe he was getting a frozen dessert at any moment. Matthew nudged him lightly, making him focus his blue eyes on himself.

Matthew knew his brother. Matthew knew his brother could be oblivious, sincerely so. But sometimes…sometimes it was on purpose. Sometimes his brother did read the atmosphere but then refused to accept it.

Matthew could see in those blue eyes that this was one of those times.

The teacher walked back into the room, pale in the face. Matthew's fears were confirmed when she beckoned for them to come outside the room to talk. They stood up in sync and walked forward.

Before they reached the threshold between the classroom and the hallway, Alfred grabbed his brother's hand. Matthew squeezed it back.

They stepped forward, looking up at their teacher.

They didn't get popsicles.

Their parents were dead.

Alfred and Matthew stared incomprehensibly. The world seemed to blur around them. They were confused. They were lost. They were passed around different adults before winding up with their elderly neighbors.

It was only that night, in an unfamiliar bed that Alfred and Matthew cried.

It wouldn't be the last time.

* * *

Alfred and Matthew stepped out of the car listlessly, staring at the grass. Their hands held each other's tightly. Their elderly neighbor fussed over their clothing, combing their hair with her fingers.

"Your uncles will be here soon…and you'll be able to go back home. Won't that be nice?" She soothed. The twins didn't respond. She sighed, straightening herself back up, "I still can't see why they couldn't have come sooner…" She commented to her husband.

The ceremony was quiet and went without a hitch. People were leaving around them. The twins barely took notice. They were in their own little world feeling lost and forgotten. Their linked hands were the only things anchoring them to this reality. This reality they wanted to wake from.

A hand landed on Alfred's shoulder, making the pair tense and turn around.

Before them was a tall (in their perspective) young man with messy blond hair and piercing green eyes. He stood with perfect posture, in a perfectly pressed suit that seemed to be carefully laid out. He smiled at them awkwardly, as if he wasn't used to doing so.

"You both have grown so much…"He murmured lamely, removing his hand from the boy's shoulder.

"Who are you?" Alfred asked bluntly, looking at the stranger suspiciously. He instinctively tightened his grip on his brother. Matthew edged closer, not able to hold eye contact with the man.

The blond seemed to flush a little, "Ah…Well, I su-suppose you wouldn't remember…I haven't visited since you were very little." He mumbled awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. He coughed into his hand, straightening himself up and offering his hand, "I'm Arthur Kirkland, your uncle. I'm here to take care of you." He explained, retracting his hand when the children only stared at it. Right. They were children. He patted their heads instead. They shied away from his touch. He pulled away again, "Well…I'm actually Alfred's godfather...but…umm…which one of you is Alfred?"

He was officially the worst uncle ever. He couldn't even tell his nephews apart.

He hadn't meant for it to be this way. Even if he never really got along with his older brother, or any of their siblings really, he had still been excited at the prospect of nephews. He wanted to impart his knowledge on the pair, showing them the wonders of their history, delighting them with fairy tales. He'd always loved children…he'd always wanted children.

However, life had a funny way of keeping him from his dreams. He and his brother had a falling out, he and-and  _that bastard_  could no longer be in the same room together and his job had suddenly decided to pile on more work.

The last time he had seen his nephews was a few weeks after their baptism.

"I'm Alfred." The twin with the slightly shorter hair mumbled, glaring up at him. Arthur felt his heart clench at how swollen and red their eyes were…They'd just lost their parents. He'd just lost his brother. It was a sad day.

"Look, boys, I'm…I'm sorry this happened," Arthur murmured softly, kneeling down to their height. They stared at him. "I'll take you both home soon and make you some tea, alright?" He continued, ruffling Alfred's hair. The boy tensed, pulling away. Arthur sighed inwardly. This wasn't going to be easy. "How about we—"

"Salut! Mes petites enfants, comme vous avez grandi!" Came an all too familiar (at least for Arthur)  _French_ voice. Arthur felts his mouth form into an automatic sneer as he saw the other man come toward them with a small smile. How could he be so happy at his own sisters funeral? Disgusting. (Arthur carefully ignored the redness around the man's blue eyes. He refused to admit that Francis felt human emotions or that he'd cried that day.)

The twins, for their part, simply stared at the new stranger incomprehensibly. He was about the same height as the other man with the same bright blond hair, only longer and nicer looking. For some reason Alfred wanted to touch it. He assumed (correctly he would later discover) that it was soft. The man wore all black, like everyone else, except for a deep purple tie. It stuck out.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here." Arthur ground out, moving a little ways away. His hands balled into fists at his sides, repulsed by the Frenchman's very presence.

"Very nice to see you too, Arthur." The man responded coldly, not even glancing in his directions, merely focusing on the children. "Alfred, Mathieu! It is I, your Uncle Francis." He announced, smiling down at them. He was about to continue with his introduction when he was interrupted.

Matthew's small hand darted out and grabbed the man's purple tie, gripping tightly. Francis blinked, a surprised at the action. Alfred leaned close to his brother, confused. Matthew pressed his mouth close to his twin's ear, explaining quietly.

"That's mommy's favorite color." Alfred said aloud, repeating his brother's words. Francis' eyes softened, looking down at the tie himself. He seemed to lose himself in it, his smile falling if only a little.

"Je sais…I know, my sister—your mother—she gave it to me a few years ago." He explained.

Matthew's grip on it tightened.

Arthur coughed awkwardly, "Yes, well, what  _are_  you doing here?" He repeated, crossing his arms and giving the man a suspicious glare.

Francis straightened up, "It is my sister's funeral, I have just as much the right to be here as you do." He growled out, "I'm here to pick up the children and take them home."

"No. I'm here to pick up the children and take them home." Arthur replied, taking a step forward. Francis narrowed his eyes, taking his own step forward.

"Non. I would never let my sister's children be raised by some uncultured English brute!"

"I would never let my nephews be raised by some perverted French bastard!" Arthur shouted right back, putting a hand on Alfred's shoulder. The boy tensed, but Arthur paid it no mind, too consumed by the growing argument. "I'm Alfred's godfather so  _I'll_  be taking care of them!"

"Well,  _I'm_ Mathieu's godfather so I'll be taking care of them!" Francis snapped in turn, putting his own hand on Matthew's shoulder. The twins remained rooted to the spot, unsure exactly what was happening but too afraid to ask.

They held each other's hands tighter.

"Fine! Have it your way!" Arthur flared, slipping his hand down to grip the boy's arm firmly. Francis mirrored the action and they both turned their separate ways. "Come on Alfred, we're leaving!" He ordered, dragging the boy behind him while Francis did much the same with Matthew.

Their hands were wrenched apart.

Matthew started to cry; Alfred started struggling against the Englishman's grip. He started screaming and Arthur let go. Alfred ran to his brother, quickly enveloping him in a hug. Francis let go of the younger twin as it happened, and watched as they clung to each other.

Francis and Arthur glanced at each other, both feeling a little sick that they had forced the two boys (the two boys who had suffered enough already) to cry.

"Go away!" Alfred yelled at them, catching their attention. "You can't take Mattie away!"

Arthur felt his heart break, "We won't do that. I promise we won't. We—We just got a little carried away." He assured quickly.

"O-Oui. The man with caterpillars for eyebrows is right! We shall take you two home together. And—And you two will stay together do not worry!" Francis chirped in right after, his own heart clenching at the display.

Arthur let the eyebrow comment go, more focused on the twins, "Let's just take you two home alright?"

It took a bit more convincing but the two men were finally able to get the pair into the car, and then home.

No one spoke.

Silence reigned in the car.


	2. Chapter 2

Things were still tense.

"Matthew…Matthew just eat it, already!" Arthur pleaded, holding out the charred meal he had painstakingly prepared. Matthew shook his head, keeping his mouth firmly shut. Alfred looked down at his own burnt meal, eating it without complaint.

They sat in their dining room (well Arthur's late brother's dining room), having dinner. Well, only one of the trio was having dinner. Matthew had refused to eat anything Arthur cooked, and Arthur was nearing his breaking point with the boy. He had to eat! Unfortunately, it wasn't the only thing the boy was refusing to do.

Matthew refused to speak to him.

Whenever the boy had something to say, he simply tugged at his brother's shirtsleeve, leaned over and whispered it in his ear. Then Alfred would tell Arthur. Arthur hated it. Why wouldn't the boy just speak to him?

"Matthew, please." Arthur pleaded, "Just one bite!" Matthew shook his head again. Arthur gritted his teeth, threading his fingers through his messy hair. He didn't want to yell at the boy. He'd just lost so much.

The doorbell rang.

Arthur whirled around to look at the clock, silently cursing. He was here already. He flicked his gaze through the hall. To add insult to injury, the damn man waved at him through the window. Damn him.

Arthur deliberately took his time to get to the door, reveling in making the other wait at the doorstep.

They had come up with a system. They would take turns, at least for now, raising the children. Every week they would switch. For now they would stay at their sibling's old home, but once it was sold, they would use their own homes. They lived relatively close, so it would work out. It was a battle to just agree to that, let alone to decide who had them for the first week.

Fortunately, Arthur had won the coin toss.

He opened the door, "You're late." He snapped, swiftly turning back to return to the kids at the dinner table. They had been quiet since the funeral; they barely spoke to him. In fact, they hid in their room, only venturing out for school and food, not that they really ate the food.

"Only because you made me wait outside." Francis retorted, dragging his bag with him as he followed the Englishman. He took the time to appreciate his rival's looks. He'd grown older since he'd last seen him, but his still had a certain…handsomeness about him. If only his personality was better, then maybe Francis would consider trying again.

"Salut Alfred et Mathieu!" He greeted with a broad smile. The kids didn't return it. He looked over the table and gasped, "What is that man feeding you!" He cried out, taking away Alfred's plate just as he was taking another spoonful. "Don't eat it!" He scolded, taking away Matthew's next.

The children stared at him. Arthur seethed.

"What do you mean 'Don't eat it'!" He growled, glaring at the elder man. Francis whirled around to face him, shoving a plate at him.

" _This is not food!_  Especially not for growing boys!" He shouted back, pulling away and moving toward the trash. Arthur's green eyes widened.

"Don't you da—"

But Francis had already thrown the food out. Arthur had spent forever preparing that meal! The nerve of-of that wine bastard!

"I see your cooking hasn't improved in the slightest." Francis commented, placing the plates in the sink with a disgusted look painted on his face.

"I'll have you know it didn't  _need_  to be improved! My cooking is much better than your shite kind!" He roared back, his hands balling into tight fists. Francis looked aghast at his cuisine being compared to such low-grade filth.

"Ferme ta gueule! Je m'en foutre de votre opinion!" He cursed at him, taking an intimidating step forward.

Arthur was never one to step down, "Speak bloody English you French fu—"

"Stop! Stop fighting!" Alfred shouted, covering his ears desperately. The two adults fell silent, whirling around to face the twins. They'd forgotten they were even there. The pair were huddled together on a chair, covering their ears.

Matthew was crying.

Almost instinctively the two men rushed forward but Alfred pushed them away, taking his brothers hand and pulling him close. "Just go away!" He yelled, getting down from the chair and dragging his sniffling brother behind him. "We don't want you here!" He continued, his own blue eyes tearing up, "I want my mommy and daddy!"

And then he started crying, and Arthur tried to rush over that time too, but again he was denied. Instead, the twins climbed up the stairs, running to their room—their sanctuary.

Arthur let out a long suffering sigh, feeling his heart clench. He should…he should just go. It was Francis turn for the week. "I'll be leaving now."

"R-Right." Francis muttered, turned away from the Englishman. Arthur gave him a weird look before shrugging the behavior off as mutual hatred. He picked up his two bags, opened the door, and left.

Francis let out a long sad sigh, wiping his teary eyes on his handkerchief. He took a calming breath, sent a silent prayer for his sister and grabbed his own bags. The Frenchman climbed up the steps, setting his bags down in the guest bedroom. He took another deep breath before moving toward what he assumed (correctly) to be the twin's bedroom.

He knocked on the door.

"Go away!" He recognized Alfred's voice through the wood. He could tell it was meant to be a strong command, but it came out hoarse and heartbreaking.

Francis opened the door.

Alfred threw his pillow at him.

It smacked the Frenchman in the face, but he ignored it, putting the pillow back down on the bed. He kneeled down on the ground, leaning his arms against the covers, and looked at the two boys sitting together before him.

"I miss my sister, too." Francis confessed, softly, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye. He smiled at them sadly.

The twins immediately looked up, staring at the man closely. "You…You miss Mom?" Alfred probed, nibbling at his bottom lip.

"Oui…She was such a kind girl. I…I have been distant, from her…We had a disagreement around when you two were born. It is why you haven't seen me very much…I regret it terribly."

"I miss mommy too." Alfred mumbled, smooshing his eyes with the heel of his hand, "Her food was better than Uncle Arthur's."

Francis let out a light laugh, "Everyone's food is better than his." He replied warmly, "But, Marie was a wonderful cook." He smiled nostalgically, "When we were little, she and I would always help Maman cook. She was so faithful to Maman's recipes; she never wanted to change them! Not even a little. I prefer to experiment with different tastes…But that wasn't Marie…She was so faithful."  _She didn't deserve to die,_ he added in his head.

The twins were looking at him closely. Francis sat up a little, ruffling their hair. They didn't tense as much. He smiled down at them. "Would you too like to help me make cookies?" The elder man asked.

Alfred and Matthew shared a look before nodding eagerly.

* * *

Francis looked up when he heard the doorbell ring. He glanced at the clock. Time really had flown. He shut the faucet off, hearing footsteps come down the stairs. They had just finished dinner, which Matthew had eaten, thankfully. (He'd learned soon after arriving that the boy had barely eaten while Arthur was there and he made it his mission to make sure he was well fed.)

Alfred and Matthew appeared in the kitchen, "Do you have to go?" Alfred asked quietly, fiddling with his shirt. "You're much nicer than Uncle Arthur!"

Francis chuckled, "I'll be back in a week. You will see." He assured, looking over to see the bushy-browed man glaring at him from the window. "Go and answer the door, for me." He asked, nudging the pair toward the front door. Alfred huffed, but obediently moved away to answer it.

Matthew hesitated, remaining behind and looking up at the Frenchman with his wide violet eyes. "Is something wrong, Mathieu?" He asked, tilting his head. Usually the younger twin was always by his brother's side. Matthew shook his head.

"…Wh-what will I eat now?" The boy asked softly, shuffling his feet. Francis held his breath; Matthew hadn't spoken to him until now. He felt it was as if he had just won himself a small victory.

"I 'ave the perfect thing!" He declared, skipping toward the pantry. "You like maple syrup, yes? Well, a little dab of that and at least some of  _his_  cooking will be edible." He explained, handing over a small container of syrup.

Matthew took it reverently, "Th-Thank you." He mumbled.

Francis smiled back at him, "It was nothing."

"Why are you still here?" Arthur asked, having come into the room with Alfred at his heels.

"I'm leaving do not worry yourself." Francis snapped, stepping away from the smaller twin and picking up his bag. The smile was gone. "Don't kill them with your cooking this time." He mocked as he left the house.

Arthur let out a sigh, "Well, I'm assuming you've already had dinner, right?" He asked, looking over at the pair. They looked unhappy, and he felt an inkling of jealousy. The French bastard had already turned them on to his side.

"Yeah. We ate." Alfred answered, taking Matthew's hand and moving toward the stairs, as if trying to escape the awkward situation.

"Wait!" Arthur called out suddenly. The two boys stopped, looking up at him curiously. "W-Would you two like to watch a movie with me? I bought popcorn…" He offered, coughing into his hand. He just wanted them to at least like him somewhat. For some reason he felt as if the two kids hated his very soul. He didn't want that.

The twins looked at each other. Alfred looked back at Arthur, "Ok…" He mumbled, nudging his brother toward the family room.

Arthur hesitated, "I'm not forcing you two…You know that, right? I was just offering…" He quickly explained.

"Mattie and me are tired." Alfred said bluntly, "We want to go to our room."

Arthur felt his heart sink, "Oh…" He swallowed thickly, "That's fine. I'll be down here."

Alfred shrugged, oblivious, and climbed up the stairs. Matthew gave one last look at the man, nibbling at his bottom lip before quickly following his brother. Arthur sighed. He felt as if he would always remain a stranger to them.

The Brit moved to the family room, taking out one of his manuscripts and beginning to read where he had last left off. He'd been pretty off lately, what with all the changes that had suddenly befallen him. And whether he liked it or not, the death of his brother had shaken him up. Even if he'd always been a jerk to him…he was still his brother.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead, and started editing.

Time passed slowly, mostly due to the fact this story was awful (or at least in his opinion). People just didn't write well anymore…Oh how he would have longed to be an editor in past times, when  _real_ novelists wrote masterpieces. He sighed.

"What'cha readin'?"

Arthur nearly had a heart attack, snapping his head up at the sound. It was only Alfred, staring at him curiously. Oh, for a minute he thought he was hearing and seeing things…again.

"Er…A story…I'm...fixing it." Arthur responded awkwardly.

"You can fix books?" Alfred asked in awe, "Can you fix the books we have to read at school so they're about pirates and heroes?"

Arthur laughed and Alfred pouted. He was being serious! "No, no, I don't fix books like that. I fix them as they're being written." He explained, patting Alfred's head. The boy didn't tense as much.

"Oh…" Alfred replied, tilting his head a little. To Arthur's surprise he sat down next to him on the couch, trying to look over his shoulder. "What's it about? Are there robots with death rays?"

Arthur chuckled once more, "No…It's actually a very bad book. It's about a woman in love with a vampire…Except the vampire isn't anything like Dracula. It's quite boring."

Alfred shrugged, looking at the manuscript, "Maybe you should add a robot. Then it would be more exciting." He added helpfully. Arthur smiled.

"I'll make a note of that."

Alfred smiled a little too, and it was the first time the Brit had seen it. Arthur felt his heart warm at the display. He glanced at the clock and cringed at how late it had gotten. He must have been working for hours without even realizing!

"Alfred, shouldn't you be in bed?" He commented, putting the manuscript away.

The boy pouted, "Mattie and me went to bed! But I couldn't sleep…" He mumbled, fiddling around with his hands.

"Couldn't sleep? How come?"

"…I miss mommy and daddy…" He responded, looking down and tugging at his shirt. "And…And Uncle Francis misses mommy…he gets sad b-but…" He faltered, glaring at the ground as tears pricked his baby blue eyes. He found his resolve, "B-But you don't miss daddy at all! You're not sad!"

Arthur blinked at the accusation and frowned, "I do miss my brother…" He assured, looking away from the boy and toward the window. "It's just…We were never very close…And…And I don't show sadness by crying." He answered carefully, turning back to face the child, "But I am sad."

"Y-You are?" Alfred probed, in disbelief.

"I am." Arthur got up from the couch, "Would you like some warm milk for bed? Maybe a story?" He asked, venturing out toward the kitchen, only casting his head over to make sure the boy was following. He was.

"A story?" Alfred repeated, hurrying after the elder man as he rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Yes, like a bedtime story. My father used to tell us them, when I was your age." Arthur explained, pulling out the milk carton, "So would you like warm milk or not?"

"Yes, please." Alfred answered, standing beside the Englishman and peaking up at the counter, "Mommy used to tell us bedtime stories about knights and princesses, but daddy said they were girly…"

Arthur snorted, it sounded like his brother. No, he shouldn't think that way, now that he was…gone. He held back a sigh, "They're not girly." Arthur assured, pouring a cup and placing it into the microwave, "What if I told you a story about pirates and ninjas and—"

"And robots with death rays?" Alfred interrupted hopefully. Arthur chuckled, ruffling his hair. Alfred didn't tense at all; instead, he seemed to smile a little brighter.

The microwave beeped, and Alfred sat down at the counter. Arthur handed the cup to him, told him to let it cool, and then scolded him lightly for taking a sip and whining that his tongue was burnt. Still, Alfred quieted down, and Arthur started to unravel a tale about a great pirate captain's search for treasure against the evil robot army and there were ninjas there too.

Alfred listened, enraptured as he drank, and continued to do so as they climbed up the stairs. Even when Arthur's voice quieted down as they entered the shared bedroom (Matthew was sleeping peacefully in his own bed and the Englishman did not want to wake him up), Alfred listened attentively. It was only as he was tucked into the bed that he started to feel drowsy, but still he fought on wanting to hear the end of the story. It was a valiant effort, but he soon succumbed to sleep and Arthur stopped.

The Brit smiled down at the boy, getting up ever so quietly and leaving the room for his own. Things were getting easier.

* * *

It was Friday evening; the children had just eaten (including another little spat between Matthew and Arthur about how pouring maple syrup on his cooking was offensive. But Matthew was silent and determined, pouring it heavily on his meal.) and they were both helping Arthur out with the dishes when the door unlocked.

That was right, he'd given the damn frog a key, for now. Soon they would be selling the house so it didn't really matter.

Matthew left quickly to go see Francis, while Alfred lingered behind. Arthur looked down at him, "Is something the matter?"

"How come you only fix books? How come you don't write books?" The little boy asked curiously, tilting his head slightly to the side.

Arthur was slightly taken aback from the question. He'd always dreamed of being an author, of writing best sellers, of pouring his soul into a manuscript. He'd been close to that, years ago… He'd had the passion for it back then. But things changed, and he'd scrapped the entire thing.

"Maybe someday." He replied, vaguely, grabbing his bag. Francis entered the room and he stiffened, his features cross. He hefted his bag.

"But-But I think you would write awesome stories!" Alfred encouraged, not reading the sudden tense atmosphere around them. Arthur locked eyes on Francis, a few painful memories resurfacing. Francis looked away.

"Arthur does not have the patience the write, nor the faith that he will finish it." Francis snapped, moving toward the stairs and away from the Englishman. Arthur bristled at the comment, tightening his grip on the handle of his bag but said nothing. "He gives up much too easily." Francis added one more scathing remark.

Arthur stomped to the front door, muttering under his breath, "I didn't give up, you bastard."

Alfred watched him slam the door shut.

Things were still tense.


	3. Chapter 3

Moving was hard.

It had been a few weeks since the funeral, and things had begun settling down. The twins had grown slightly more animated as the days passed and had warmed up to their new caretakers. Things had been getting better.

Unfortunately, someone soon bought their home. Alfred and Matthew were not happy about leaving their parent's house. They threw fits (especially Alfred) or shunned both Arthur and Francis (mostly Matthew). But, whether they liked it or not, moving day was coming.

It was one of the very few times that Arthur and Francis had to be in the house at the same time. Of course, they tried to stay in different rooms, but it was difficult. They were packing up. Or trying to. They had finished most of the bottom floor, but the upper floor was much more difficult.

Whenever they packed something, Alfred would pull it back out.

"Alfred,  _please._ " Arthur begged, exasperated as he put away the picture frame again in the box. Alfred lunged to grab it again, and Arthur had to hold him back. The boy struggled desperately for it back. "The movers are coming tomorrow and we need to be ready!"

"I don't wanna leave! Mommy loved this house!" He cried out, wrenching the frame from the box and holding it close. "You can't make us leave!" He continued, kicking the box and rushing out of the room.

"Alfred!" Arthur shouted back, storming off after the young boy. He was at his peak. He couldn't just let the boy act that way. He followed the other across the hall and into his bedroom, where Alfred had squirmed himself under the bed. Arthur dropped to his knees, peaking his head under.

"Alfred! Alfred get out of there! We need to finish packing!" He ordered, but to no avail. Alfred remained huddled in the middle of his single bed, curled up. That was when he heard the quiet sniffling.

His anger deflated completely at the pitiful sound. He sat up, leaning his back against the bedside. He rubbed his temples tiredly, letting out a long suffering sigh. If he could, he would have made it so the boys didn't have to leave…But they just couldn't afford this house. Arthur had to pay his own bills, let alone ones for this much larger house. Francis couldn't either, though he was better off (economically that is) than Arthur.

"Alfred, please…" Arthur pleaded, into his hands.

"Matthieu, please…"

Arthur stiffened, turning around. He peeked over the edge of the bed, seeing Francis on his hands and knees with his head ducked under Matthew's bed. He blinked. He hadn't noticed the man come in…

Francis sighed to himself, pulling his head back out and turning around to lean against the bedside. It was then he noticed the green eyes peering at him closely. He blinked.

"What are you doing here?" Francis asked, surprised. They'd made sure to stay in different rooms for a reason.

"The same reason you are." Arthur spat back, "Alfred's upset. He's hiding under the bed."

"I can hear you!" Alfred cried from his hiding place, curling up into a tighter ball.

"Well then come out!" Arthur snapped back, ducking back down to look at him, "I'm tired of thi—" He faltered.

Alfred stared at him with his red irritated eyes, clinging to the framed photo. "Don't make us leave!" He begged, crawling a little closer, "Mommy and Daddy would want us to stay!" He pleaded.

Arthur bit his lip, his heart clenching at the desperation in the little boy's voice, "We…We can't Alfred. I'm sorry." He mumbled, "Now please come out…"

"If I get out we leave sooner!" He shouted back, squirming back to the center of the bed. Arthur groaned, pulling away and standing up. He didn't know what to do with the boy.

It didn't seem Francis was having much luck with Matthew. He stood up as well, stroking his chin thoughtfully. Arthur raised a bushy eyebrow at the motion. He was answered by a wink that only made him bristle (mostly because it brought back memories best left forgotten).

Francis didn't answer the silent question; instead he motioned for the other to follow and started leaving the room. "I suppose we'll just have to leave them in the house. Even after we leave…alone." He said, quite loudly, "Without any cookies." And he ducked out of the room and sped down the stairs.

Arthur blinked, following him, not really quite understanding what the bloody hell he was up to. That is, until he heard the sudden scamper of feet and was attacked by two little boys pressing their faces to his side. He looked down, surprised.

"Y-You and Uncle Francis wou-wouldn't leave us right?" Matthew cried out, worriedly, pressing his face to his side. Matthew rarely spoke to him. The British man immediately started smoothing his hair down to comfort the poor boy.

"Of course not! Don't worry, lad…He just says things without thinking." He assured, smiling down at them, "I'm sorry we have to move."

"It's ok." The younger twin reassured, pressing his face into his sweater vest, "We don't want to be alone…" He mumbled. It broke Arthur's heart.

He hugged them close, "You won't ever be alone."

Alfred squirmed slightly, "But what about the cookies?!" He exclaimed, clearly having his priorities straight. Arthur laughed lightly.

"Francis is probably making them downstairs." He replied, watching as the young American boy ran down the stairs eagerly, taking two at a time. Arthur was about to scold him for it but let him be.

"…You called Uncle Francis, Francis." Matthew wondered aloud, pulling away from the elder man. Arthur furrowed his brows in confusion at the comment. "Instead of frog…or bad words." The child continued, fiddling with his long sleeves.

Arthur was taken a back, "Yes…Well…" He coughed awkwardly. Did he and Francis really argue that much in front of the children? They would need to do better.

"Why do you and Uncle Francis hate each other?" The little kid probed deeper. Arthur was surprised he was talking to him so much. He would have been ecstatic if they were talking about something else.

"Let's go eat cookies." He answered, nudging Matthew toward the stairs.

* * *

The first week after moving out of the home the twins lived in Arthur's small townhouse. They didn't like it. They felt cramped, there wasn't a playground and there were few children on the street.

Arthur felt bad. He tried to make his humble home more interesting…but it just wasn't. His style was old fashioned; his home was quaint but not fun and exciting. Most of all, it was a big step down from the twin's old home.

The Englishman's heart sunk a little at how eager the twins were to go to Francis's house the next week.

Francis home was in the city. It was a condominium, and he had one of the middle floors. At first, the twins were enamored by it. Everything seemed so modern and cool looking. There was an HD TV in it too!

After a few days, however, they didn't like it as much. Francis worked at some fashion company that had a name Alfred couldn't pronounce. That being on Fridays and Saturdays, he entertained a lot of people in his home.

Francis assured them it was necessary to keep up good business relationships, and at first the twins had been excited about parties. Unfortunately, it wasn't like any party they ever went to.

Alfred felt like Francis had lied to them. This wasn't a party! There wasn't even a piñata or fruit punch or candy. Just a bunch of adults roaming around, talking about nothing and drinking something he wasn't allowed to have. It was so dumb.

Worst of all, Francis barely paid attention to them during it. He would be moving around, chatting with all of his guests pleasantly, admiring their outfits and ignoring the two children in the room. Whenever they did catch his attention, he would tell them to just stay in his bedroom, where there was another TV to watch.

Alfred didn't like being ignored.

Of course this only occurred only once a week or so, and Francis was his normal doting self afterwards, it still didn't make the children very comfortable. They felt it as a relief to return to Arthur's home at the end of the week.

And yet, when that week was coming to a close they longed to go back to Francis'. Alfred decided he didn't like any of the houses. He wanted his own one back. That house had been perfect!

But what the twins hated the most was having to continuously move between two houses. It was tiring, annoying and lead them to grow detached from both homes. Uncle Francis was always busy entertaining, or out at his work so the twins weren't able to spend as much time with him even while at his home. Arthur was quiet and tended to isolate himself in his study to edit. He worked from home but that didn't mean the boys saw him more.

They didn't like this new arrangement at all.

"I hate this!" Alfred complained, dropping his bag down by the door and kicking at the floor. Matthew put his own bag down in a much calmer matter.

Arthur closed the door; peering at the boy curiously, "Trouble in English again?" He asked. He'd become accustomed to helping the boys (usually Alfred) with that subject in particular.

"No. Well, yeah but not that." He sighed, lying down on the ground. Arthur scolded him and the boy moved to the couch with a huff.

"What's wrong, lad?" The British man asked after following him to the small living room. He kneeled down in front of him.

"I want a home." Alfred mumbled bluntly, pressing his face into the arm of the furniture. Arthur scrunched his thick brows and Alfred felt like pulling at them but refrained.

"You do have a home. You have two." The elder man replied, tilting his head a little.

"That's the problem!" He cried, giving him a look. Arthur was slightly taken aback, "I don't want two houses! I just want one! I just want a house with a mom and dad and my brother and maybe a dog!" He continued, "Just like on the TV!"

"…I-I'm sorry Alfred…"

"Why can't we live in the same house? Why! I hate this!" He continued, punching the armrest angrily.

"I-I, Alfred you have to understand…We can't live in the same hou—"

"Why?  _Why?"_  Alfred probed desperately, "Why do you and Uncle Francis fight so much? Aren't you suppose to be our second mom and dad? Then you should live together!"

"Alfred stop this, I refuse to live with him again. I'll have you—"

"You lived with Uncle Francis?" Alfred suddenly asked, sitting up. Arthur reddened a little, feeling he'd said a bit too much.

"Er…Yes, at one time." Arthur confessed, his uncomfortableness radiating off him in waves. Alfred remained oblivious.

"How come you don't anymore?" He pressed, leaning closer to the blond.

"Because we don't." Arthur snapped back curtly, turning way from the young boy.

Alfred pouted, "That's not an answer! Everything would be better if we had one house together!" He insisted, tugging at the others sleeve as if it helped his point get across.

Arthur whirled back around, snapping his arm away from the boy suddenly. It made Alfred shrink back into the couch, "And that is where you are wrong! Things would be much much worse if we lived together with that wine bastard! I will not subjugate myself to such a horrible life again do you hear me? And I will not hear you suggest it ever again!" He shouted, absolutely bristling.

Alfred's blue eyes were tearing up, but he did not lie back in defeat. He stood up, and pushed the man away. "I hate you! I want my daddy back!" He screamed, turning away and running desperately up the steps to his room.

Arthur had started feeling guilty at the sign of tears in Alfred's eyes, but the sudden outburst only fueled his anger. "Alfred! Alfred you get back here this instant!" He ordered, stomping right after the boy. He reached his room, twisting the doorknob only to find it locked. "Alfred! Unlock this door immediately!" He shouted through the door, slamming his fist against the door.

"Go away! You're not my dad! I hate you! You took my home away! Leave me alone!" Alfred screamed, burying his face under his covers and piling the pillows around his head in a desperate effort to deafen the noise.

Arthur continued banging on the door a few more minutes before finally giving up. He rested his sweaty forehead against the cool wood, taking a deep breath. What was he doing? Was he doing everything wrong? Why did he ever think he could raise a child? He had no idea what he was doing... Perhaps Alfred was right, perhaps he was ruining everything. God he hoped not…

Arthur breathed out a long suffering sigh, letting his anger leave him. "Alfred." He said again, in a much softer tone. "Alfred, I'm sorry I yelled. Let me in." He tried. There was a rustle of fabric and Arthur thought perhaps the boy was getting up to let him in.

It wasn't the case.

Alfred was only lifting his head from the covers, "I wanna be alone r-right now." He pleaded. Arthur hated the hitch in the boy's breath as he spoke. He was crying. It broke his heart.

"…Alright." He answered, straightening up to start going down the corridor and back to the stairs. He paused however, looking back at the door. What if he apologized? What if he told him he had no idea what he was doing, that he was sorry all of this had happened but that he was doing his best?

He stood there, debating the matter in his head. But the moment passed and he felt it was too late now. So, he returned down the steps without another word.

* * *

Francis set out the food at the table with a smile, letting out a 'Bon apetit' before sitting back down at the head of the table. Alfred and Matthew ate happily, grateful that the food was much better than at Arthur's home.

The conversation was normal. Francis asked about school. Matthew smiled shyly as he spoke of another A and Alfred complained about the English teacher, the history teacher…every teacher. Francis took it all in stride.

That is, until the conversation hit a bump.

"Uncle Arthur said you two lived together before." Alfred mentioned during a lull in the conversation. Francis dropped his fork, choking on his food.

"D-Did he?" The Frenchman repeated, dabbing his lips with his napkin. He wasn't very sure how to approach this subject.

"Uncle Arthur and me were fighting about houses and he said that. Why do you hate each other?" Alfred asked, staring at his uncle closely.

Francis cleared his throat, "Well, that's a bit complicated. Let's just say, Arthur and I used to be friends but… Sometimes, grown ups grow apart."

"But why?" Alfred pressed. Matthew sank in his seat, feeling the tension growing in the air. Alfred apparently did not.

Francis picked up his knife and fork again, cutting at the chicken breast. "Because. Certain Englishmen become much too finicky about certain matters, and then they get so accusing, and then all trust is lost because of a stupid matter and all things go to hell because the stupid man wont ever listen to you! God forbid he actually believes me for a moment! Espece d'idiot. Il ne veut pas m'ecouter? Eh ben, je m'en foutre de lui. Sans lui, j'ai recue une travaille merveilleux avec plein d'argent. Avec lui je n'etais pas heureux de tout!" He rambled in french angrily, stabbing at his meal without even realizing. The children shrank back.

"I don't get what you just sai—" Alfred tried to interject.

"I said I was not happy at all with him!" Francis shouted, smashing his fork and knife back down. He stood up, his chair creaking back. The children stared at him, not used to such anger from their normally serene uncle. "Excuse me for a moment." He added, leaving the room.

"Why do you keep doing that Al! They don't want to talk about it!" Matthew hissed at his brother once their relative had left the room.

Alfred pouted at his brother, "I'm just curious! And I want to live together in one house."

"But we can't."

"We can if we make them like each other again! Then we can be a family again!"

"It doesn't work like that Al!"

"But we can try, Mattie! I want a home!  _One_  home!" He begged, and Matthew had to admit he wanted that too. More than anything.

Moving was hard.


	4. Chapter 4

Drastic action was needed.

Alfred felt angry. He was angry with his life. He was angry with his circumstances. He was angry with his uncles. He was angry with his parents for abandoning him. He was angry with Matthew for not wanting to do anything.

He was angry he didn't have a family anymore. And he was determined to change that. His anger grew as the weeks passed on and nothing changed. School was nearing its end. Arthur and Francis still fought. And they could barely stay civil when in the same room. The twins were passed around each house every week. Things were horrible and nothing was going to change.

And so, one day, Alfred had enough.

"Alfie, what are you doing?" Matthew asked, looking up from the schoolbook he was reading for class. His brother had stormed up the stairs after arguing with Arthur about how he had forgotten a book here while he was at Francis' home. The teacher had yelled at him for being unprepared. Alfred argued that if they lived in just one house it wouldn't have happened. Arthur refused to accept his explanation, and told him that he didn't have a choice in the matter.

Alfred unzipped his backpack and overturned all of its contents angrily. He kicked his books away and grabbed random clothing, stuffing it into his now empty bag. He then grabbed his Gameboy, throwing it in along with his case full of games.

Matthew shut his book, "Al…What are you doing?" He repeated, sitting up slightly. Alfred looked up at him, zipping his backpack up, and shoving it onto his shoulder. Matthew could tell something was horribly wrong.

"I'm leaving."

The younger boy blinked, "Leaving?" He repeated, in disbelief. What did his twin mean by leaving? "Where are you going?"

"Away. And I'm never coming back!" He snapped, opening the door to see if Arthur had come upstairs to check on him.

"Wh-what? You can't leave!" Matthew insisted, jumping off the bed and going toward his brother. "What about me? And Uncle Arthur and Uncle Francis?"

"Come with me Mattie! It's awful here! I want a better family, and I'm gonna find one. I want one where the mom and dad like each other and live in the same house!"

"B-But Alfred, Uncle Arthur and Francis aren't our mom and dad…."

"I know that!" He shouted back angrily, tearing up a little. Matthew took a step back from the outburst, and Alfred wiped at his face bitterly. "I-It doesn't matter. I hate this. I'm leaving. Forever."

"I…I don't want to leave…We have school on Monday, Al!"

"Fine. Don't come with me, Mattie. You're the worst twin ever!" And Alfred ran out of the room, slipping down the steps. Matthew stood there, feeling awful. Maybe he should follow him? He didn't want to be alone…He loved his brother! He didn't want to lose him! But running away was scary…and he hadn't finished his homework and-and Alfred was always making him do things and he didn't like it.

Alfred had found Arthur reading one of his manuscripts on the couch. He knew from experience that Arthur would be too engrossed by his work to notice him. With that reassuring thought he padded over to the backdoor and left.

He would find a better family. Then he would come back for Mattie. And then he wouldn't have to move between houses anymore. It was the perfect plan.

Alfred didn't want his new family to live near Uncle Arthur so he decided to cross the street and look for another neighborhood. This time with a playground and kids he could be friends with so it wouldn't be so boring.

Alfred's spirits were high. He ran through the woods across the street into another street. He crossed it and found a field. It was like an adventure! The field reminded him of the cowboy movies he used to watch with his Dad, and he pretended to shoot at imaginary robbers. But then he remembered he used to play the game with his Dad, and he got sad.

He left the field quickly.

It was getting darker; his stomach rumbled. He forgot to pack food. Maybe he should go back? No. Not without a new home. But, he was lost. He hadn't seen a house for a while. It was cold too. He glared at the endless street before him.

"Are you alright there?" A dark figure asked, coming over to him. Alfred tensed, his frightened blue eyes staring at the other. It was a man, older than Uncle Arthur, who looked scary in the darkening evening light. "Where are your parents?" The figure continued.

Alfred stood up quickly, shaking his head desperately, "Mommy said not to talk to strangers." He blurted out before running in the other direction, not really paying attention to where he was going.

* * *

"Dinner, boys!" Arthur called up the stairs. He had ordered in pizza today, in order to apologize to Alfred for upsetting him again. That, and because he had burned last nights meal quite badly.

Only Matthew came down the steps, looking distraught. It was as if he didn't know what to do. "Matthew? What ever is the matter? And where's Alfred?" The Englishman asked, concerned.

Matthew started to cry. Arthur grew even more anxious.

"Al-Alfie ran away!" He blurted out, covering his face with his hands.

Arthur's eyes widened, "What? Ran away? What do you mean?"

"He-He packed up his backpack and said he wa-was leaving to find a better family! I told him not to go and he-he said he hated m-me and I want Alfie to come home!"

"Oh my god." Arthur breathed out before hugging the boy close, "Matthew it'll be alright. We'll find him. He couldn't have gone far." He assured.

Matthew didn't respond; he only clung to him. Arthur wanted to hold him forever, but he couldn't. He needed to find Alfred. He pulled away, giving the young boy a brave smile. "Let's go find him."

Matthew nodded, sniffling into his sleeve and taking his caretaker's hand. Arthur grabbed their jackets and hurried out of the house.

The pair wondered around the neighborhood, calling Alfred's name desperately. Matthew looked everywhere: in the trees, under the rocks, anywhere he could think of. Arthur asked every neighbor he could find, and they all agreed to keep on the lookout. A few joined in on the search; however, it was getting late.

Matthew was a wreck. "He-He's not here! He's far! He went really far!" He exclaimed, pulling on Arthur's shirtsleeve. "Call Uncle Francis! He'll help!"

"I—"

"Please! Please I want Alfie home!"

Arthur fumbled for his phone, dialing the wretched number and putting it to his ear. Matthew waited, his face red from crying, but his eyes still alight with hope. The phone picked up.

"What do you want Art—"

"Alfred's missing. He ran away. Now please refrain from calling me a horrible parent or whatever other insult you wish to hurl at me because it won't help anything. Just get down here as fast as you can because God knows I would never ask for your help unless I was in a dire situation, and if anything happens to that boy I—"

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

Francis hung up, and Arthur tried to regain his breathing. Matthew looked at him curiously, never having seen the gentleman wannabe so undone, frazzled and worried.

"Is Uncle Francis coming?" The little boy asked.

"Yes. He is. Do you have any other ideas where he could have gone?" Arthur continued.

"He wanted a new family so he would want to be far from here." Matthew replied spinning around and looking about the neighborhood. "Maybe he crossed the street into the woods?" He wondered aloud.

Arthur nodded, taking Matthew's hand and rushing toward the woods. He didn't want to lose him too. They looked through the woods, calling out Alfred's name but to no avail. Matthew turned to him and said that maybe Alfred had crossed the street again, but Arthur still could not believe the boy would run off that far. Had he really forced him to run away as far as he could go? It made him feel even worse.

A car horn beeped. The pair turned around to see Francis rolling down his window. They trotted up to him, "Have you found him?" The Frenchman asked.

Arthur shook his head; Matthew leaned heavily on him. It was right then that Arthur realized the boy hadn't eaten dinner, and it was way past his bedtime. He kneeled down, "Matthew, now I know you want to find your brother, but I can tell you're very tired. Maybe you should go to sleep. We'll find Alfred."

"No! I want to help! I'm the best at finding Alfred!" He insisted. He always had some sort of sixth sense when it came to his twin. 

Arthur did something he'd never done before, he glanced over at Francis for some sort of support. The Frenchman didn't deny him, "Arthur is right. Let me take you home so you can rest. You'll get sick if you stay out much longer. I promise Arthur and I will keep looking."

"B-But…" The little boy stammered out, looking oh so pitiful. "But I want my brother!"

"We'll find him. Don't worry. We won't sleep until he's in the bed beside you." Arthur continued, opening the car door and picking the boy up. Matthew felt limp in his hands. He buckled him in.

"Ch-Check the field. He's near there, I know it!" He mumbled determinedly, his violet eyes pleading with his uncle to do what he advised.

"We will." Arthur promised, kissed his forehead quickly and closed the door. Francis quickly drove off to the house to settle him in. In the meantime, the Englishman continued to search, screaming the little boy's name into the dark night.

He searched the woods nearby completely before Francis finally joined him, carrying two flashlights. They didn't say anything to each other. They just crossed the street and started to look for the poor boy in the field.

There was still no answer to their calls. Arthur was starting to get scared, to get desperate. This was all his fault.

"I just don't understand why 'e would just run off…" Francis thought aloud, swinging the flashlight about for any sign of the child.

"It's because he hates me." Arthur snapped, "I've driven him off."

"Why would he hate you?" The Frenchman asked, perplexed. 

"You of all people should know it's very easy to hate me." The Brit spat back, turning away to look at the other side of the field. The Frenchman sighed, padding after him.

"He doesn't hate you. He is just frustrated; it is hard...to lose everything you love." He assured softly. "I know that for a fact."

Arthur didn't respond, he simply continued calling Alfred's name. Francis kept close to him, doing much the same. It was only once they'd reach the edge of the field they heard a noise. It wasn't a response, but it was a sound Arthur had become quite accustomed to.

"That's that little poke-whatever theme song!" He cried out in relief, rushing toward the source of the sound. Francis' wasn't entirely sure what he meant but followed quickly after.

And there Alfred was, sitting on a rock with his Gameboy out, completely engrossed. "Alfred!" Arthur cried, making the boy look up alarmed. At first he looked relieved to be found, but he soon forced on an angry look.

"Go away!" He shouted, closing his Gameboy and getting up. He didn't want to go home! It wasn't even a home. Sure he was hungry and cold, but he still had a little more battery left and-

Arthur hugged him tightly to his chest, smothering him. "Oh Alfred, you had me so worried. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He whispered, clinging to him. Alfred tensed in surprise.

"Uncle Arthur? Are you—Are you crying? Don't cry!" He replied worriedly, pulling away and staring at the teary eyed man. Grownups weren't supposed to cry! Dad and mom never ever cried...

Francis quickly grabbed the boy's attention, "Alfred, why did you run off? You had us all worried. Your brother is very upset." He scolded softly.

Alfred looked down at his feet as if he was in trouble, "I wanted to…To find a better home. Where the parents live in one house. I hate it here!"

Francis sighed, "We'll talk about this in the morning, alright? Let's just go home and sleep." He leaned down and picked the boy up. Alfred didn't fight it, feeling very tired all of a sudden. Arthur picked up the boy's bag, keeping a ways away in order to wipe away at his embarrassingly wet face.

The trio arrived home soon enough. Arthur put Alfred straight to bed. Of course, they were first accosted by Matthew who hadn't gone to bed. He attacked Alfred into a hug before punching his arm angrily for leaving and making him worry.

With the two in bed, safe and sound, the two adults regressed downstairs to the kitchen. Arthur started making himself tea. Francis stood awkwardly by the counter.

"I suppose I should go…"

"Sit down, Francis." Arthur ordered, his back turned as he poured his tea in his mug. Francis did so, leaning against the counter. The Brit turned around, sipping his drink and staring at the other.

"We need to do something." Francis spoke up first, drumming his fingers against the marble.

Arthur let out a long sigh before agreeing, "I know." He took another sip. "I think it's best you stay the night." He added.

"You'll let me?" Francis asked in disbelief, raising an eyebrow. Arthur snorted.

"You'll sleep on the couch." He replied, "But…But I don't know how we could fix Alfred's problem."

"I can understand what he wants." Francis murmured, leaning his face against his hand. "I remember how much it hurt that your father—"

"This doesn't make us friends, frog." Arthur growled out, putting his mug down with a loud clatter.

Francis frowned, "Arthur…It's been years. Maybe this is a sign we should start over."

"Never again."

"Not date! Just…Just be at least cordial to each other." Francis insisted, "I made a mistake. But you are not without your faults."

"Cheating on me is not a mistake you can brush off like that!" Arthur hissed back, furiously.

"I said I was sorry! We'd had a huge fight!"

"We always have huge fights!"

"Yes, but this was the first time you threw my things out of your house!"

"You were late to dinner!"

"Work got the best of me! Why did it even matter? I came eventually! It-It was just a normal date!"

"No it wasn't!"

"How would you know?"

"I saw the damn ring Francis!" Arthur cried, turning away. "I saw the fucking ring in our closet when I was looking for a tie to wear." Francis remained silent, "I…I thought you were proposing that night. And I got my damn hopes up and you were late. Because of work of all things and so I was angry and things escalated. But I would never imagine going to your apartment the next night to apologize and finding you with some whore in your sheets!"

"Arthur—"

"No. I am not re-opening wounds with you! We will work out a system, but I do not want to be your friend, Francis Bonnefoy, or anything of the like!" He finished, storming away from the kitchen. He opened the hallway closet, pulling out a sheet and dumping it on the couch. "Good night."

Francis was left alone, in the kitchen. He let out a sad sigh, "Je suis vraiment desole…" He whispered to himself, "I didn't mean for it to happen. I…I just felt like everything I wanted was slipping from my grasps." He chuckled to himself darkly, he was going mad with all this talking to himself.

With that in mind, he walked over to the couch and made himself comfortable. They would figure things out in the morning.

Drastic action was needed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually an update instead of a re-post/transfer. It's short orz

It always gets worse before it gets better. But it does get better.

Francis groaned, rolling over on the uncomfortable bed he was lying on. He must not have slept in his own bed, last night. He couldn’t really remember. It wasn’t that odd; he did it all the time (though less frequently now that he had to take care of the twins). But, it didn’t feel like he’d had sex last night…

He blinked his eyes open, gasping as bright blue eyes stared at him curiously. He sat up, his back cracking at the sudden movement. He groaned. Oh. That’s right. He was sleeping on Arthur’s couch.

“Uncle Francis! Why are you still here?” Alfred asked excitedly, bouncing where he stood at the edge of the couch. He had snuck downstairs, having woken up early that Sunday morning only to find the man still here.

“Hmm? Euh…Arthur let me stay. I think he want us all to talk together.” Francis explained, stretching his arms out. “Per’aps over breakfast would be better…” He thought aloud, getting up.

“Oh…Wait, you mean like a family meeting?” Alfred tried to clarify, stepping back to let the man go. He followed after him into the small kitchen. “Mom and Dad always used to call family meetings! Especially to discuss vacations and stuff.

“…Sort of…I suppose.” Francis answered, “Except this is much more serious than a vacation, Alfred. It’s about last night.” He added, giving the boy a stern look. The blond drooped under the glare, looking down at the tiled ground.

“I’m sorry…” Alfred mumbled out as his uncle pulled out a pan. “I was angry. And I—I just wanted…”

Francis shushed him, picking the boy up and setting him on the counter, “I know, that is why we will all talk this out and try to make everything better, ok?” He assured, smiling at him, “Now, I’m making pancakes, is that alright?”

“Waffles are better. But don’t tell Mattie I said that! He’ll beat me up!” Alfred quickly added, looking around nervously in case his brother was around and had heard him. His brother was always good at sneaking up on him.

Francis chuckled, “I just can’t see Matthew hurting anyone…” He confessed, smiling warmly at the boy.

Alfred’s eyes widened, “That’s cause you’ve never seen him play hockey! He gets into fights all the time!” The boy explained enthusiastically, “This one time, Dad and I were at his little league game thingy and one of the other kids totally tripped him and he attacked him! I’m pretty sure there was blood too.”

Francis blinked at the newfound information, “Really...Matthieu plays hockey? But ‘e is so delicate…” He pondered aloud, as he prepared the batter, “And I’ve never taken him to any games…”

“That’s because the coaches excused us from the teams cause we were too sad to play for a while…Cause…” Alfred drifted off, looking away. The Frenchman, stroked his hair soothingly, bringing him back, “Anyways, we’re gonna play next year for sure!”

“We? You play hockey too, Alfred?”

“No! I play baseball, duh.” The American boy responded, obviously. It was then Francis realized he knew nothing about the twin boys. He didn’t know what they liked to do, what their favorite animal was, what they wanted to be when they grew up… Why didn’t he know any of this? He’d been caring for them for months…

“Uncle Francis?” Alfred’s voice brought him back from his thoughts, and he quickly returned to preparing the meal. 

“Euh, Alfred, why don’t you go wake up your brother and Arthur?” The Frenchman quickly proposed, pouring a bit of the batter into the pan. Alfred hopped off the counter obediently with a nod, scurrying up the steps to do as he was told.

Francis was almost done flipping the last pancake when Alfred returned down the steps closely followed by his twin. Arthur came down a few minutes after him, wearing his plaid pajamas. Francis remembered those. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Arthur didn’t look at him, just passed by him to get to his precious teakettle. Alfred pulled at the Brit’s pants leg, getting his attention. “Can I have orange juice?” He asked. Matthew tugged at his brother’s arm, and Alfred quickly added, “And Mattie wants apple juice.”

“Of course.” Arthur replied, happily obliging the pair. He gave them their drinks before working on his tea once more. The children scurried to the table, sitting on opposite sides and waiting. Francis soon placed the pancakes on the table and took a seat at one head. Arthur came out with his own hot beverage, joining them at the other head.

They ate peacefully. Alfred filled the air with his chatter. Matthew even added his own few thoughts in the conversation but otherwise ate quietly. The two adults didn’t talk. They focused on their food. They didn’t even look at each other. That is, until Alfred changed the subject.

“Can we do this again, please?” The little boy asked suddenly, playing with his food.

Arthur furrowed his brow, “Do what?”

“Eat together…like a family…” Alfred mumbled, not looking up from his plate, “I really like it.”

It was then Arthur finally glanced over at Francis. “I don’t know,” He answered truthfully, “The reason he’s here is we need to talk about things…”  
  
“Yeah I know.” Alfred interjected, putting his fork down, “I wanna talk. I wanna fix things. Heroes fix things.”

 “Fix?” Arthur questioned.

 “Yeah. That’s what you do with broken things. Whenever I broke a toy Daddy would always try to fix it.” The child explained, looking the Englishman in the eye, “So, we’re a broken family, right? So we gotta fix it…unless…maybe we are bad enough that it can’t be fixed.” He thought sadly, hopelessly.

“W-Well, then we just rebuild it right…” Matthew piped up, quickly, “Like daddy did with the toys that were too messed up…” He trailed off, not liking the attention he was suddenly getting as all eyes were turned toward him.

“Alfred, Matthew. I—We know that you want us all to act like a family, to live in the same house and such but…we can’t. And we need you two to understand that.” Arthur spoke up calmly but determinedly.

The two boys looked down at their seats. Alfred, however, suddenly looked right back up, defiantly. “But then nothin’ changes! You’re not even trying to fix things!” 

“Now, Alfred—”

“No! Listen to me! Why can’t we just eat like this once a week or something? Anything! And-and I don’t want to keep changing houses! I hate changing houses! Can’t Mattie and I just stay in one house for longer…” He reasoned, frustrated.

“But then we don’t get you for equal amounts of time and that’s not fair to—" 

“You’re wrong Arthur.” Francis spoke up, finally. The Englishman furrowed his brow at the other man, “We’ve only been thinking about what was fair for us…not for them.” He continued, “We’ve only been unfair.”

“What are you saying?” Arthur asked, a little panicked that the man wanted to live in the same house. Never again.

“I’m saying that this system we’ve come up with isn’t fair to them. They have every right to want a stable family life, don’t you see? I’ve learned more in the hour I spent here with Alfred than I have helping raising him these past few months. And do you know why that is? Because he was comfortable. He hadn’t just moved back into my home after a week here. He hadn’t just come from school and was too tired to talk. We can’t just keep expecting them to move their home because we can’t stand each other!”

“So you want us to live in one house? That would be even worse!” Arthur insisted.

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Francis snapped, “Can’t you just let me finish for once in your life! I’m saying…” He sighed, calming himself down, “I’m saying the children should just live here.” He finished, looking down.

“Wh-what?” The twins questioned at the same time. Arthur looked equally as shocked.

“Y-you’re abandoning us?” Matthew blurted out, feeling betrayed. Tears stung at his eyes, and Francis quickly jumped to clarify.

“Non, of course not! I am just saying that Arthur’s home is much more like a home than mine in the dangerous city! You will be more comfortable here…I will come visit you all the time! We can spend weekends together, but that way you don’t have to keep moving. Better?”

The twins didn’t respond. Arthur was still in a state of shock. The room was silent for a long while, until Alfred, like usual, broke it. He creaked his chair back.

“When you fix something you don’t just throw away one of the pieces! That’s stupid!” He shouted, standing up, “It doesn’t fix anything! It makes a giant hole! Why are grown ups so stupid!” He finished, scurrying away from the table to climb up the steps.

Arthur stood up quickly, “Alfred! Alfred, wait come back!” He called, but to no avail. He sighed, messing with his hair. The Englishman then turned his head when he heard another chair creak as Matthew got up.

The boy glared at the two of them angrily, something the two adults didn’t see as possible, “Y-you two are a bunch of meanies! You’ve made Alfie cry so much over all of this, and it’s not right! My brother never ever cried unless someone hit him too hard! But now, he cries all the time. And he’s angry all the time! And you guys made him run away, and its not ok! Stop hurting my brother!” He cried out, before rushing past them to go comfort his twin. 

Arthur slumped back into his seat, holding his head in his hands in defeat. “…I just don’t know what to do. 

“Do you remember…” Francis started, looking away sadly, “When we had that talk about having kids someday…” He laughed dryly, “Per’aps it’s a good thing that talk never ended with anything. We’re horrible at this.”

Arthur snorted at the comment, but then looked at the Frenchman sternly, “If you were serious about that proposition, then…If we did…do that…You’d be welcome here…at...any time.” He muttered out.

Francis blinked, “I would?”

“As much as I despise the idea of you being around often, I don’t want to keep them from their uncle. And if you would sacrifice them living with you…well…it’s the least I can do. Just give me a warning when you’re coming by so I can mentally prepare myself.”

Francis couldn’t help the small smile from appearing on his face, “Would I be allowed to come and cook dinner?” He probed. 

“I think Matthew would kill me if I said no to that.” Arthur replied, hiding his own little smile behind his hand.

Francis let out a chuckle. He calmed down however, looking at the Brit seriously, “But thank you, really.”

“Oh don’t put that act on now.” Arthur sneered, standing up and turning away, if only to hide the slight blush on his cheeks. “Now let’s go tell the boys what’s happening and calm them down.” 

Francis nodded, making a motion for the Brit to go first. Arthur rolled his eyes, but obliged him, climbing up the steps and venturing into the boys’ room. He was surprised it was unlocked.

“Alfred, Matthew, I—Francis and I wanted to—”

Alfred’s head peaked out from the structure, “We can’t hear you. Fort Maple Hero is grown up sound proofed.” He explained, before ducking back in.

Arthur raised an amused eyebrow, glancing over at Francis who shrugged. The Frenchman then decided to crouch down, with Arthur following suite. “Then can the stupid grownups come into the fort for a minute?” He asked.

This time Matthew poked his head out, a little surprised to find both adults on the floor. “No.” He said anyway, slipping back in.

Arthur sighed, worming his way closer, “But boys, this is important.” Arthur groaned, trying to ponder over what would be the twins’ password.

Francis put on a smirk, nudging the Englishman out of the way, “Is the password ‘waffles are better than pancakes.’” He asked, with a devilish smirk on his face. Arthur gave him a confused look, wondering what the Frenchman was up to.

There was a pause before Matthew stuck his head out once more, “What? Why would that ever be the password!” 

“I don’t know…Alfred told me he preferred waffles to pancakes this morning…” Francis thought aloud, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

Alfred stuck his head out alongside his brother, “It’s a lie, Mattie! I never said that ever!” He quickly assured, but then he stuck his head out further, whispering loudly, “I told you not to tell him!”

Before Alfred could even realize that everyone in the room had heard his whisper (if one could call it a whisper), Matthew had lunged at him. The two wrestled for a while, before Matthew managed to sit on top of his brother.

“Take it back, Al!” He ordered, holding his squirming brother down. 

“But Mattie!” The elder twin whined, “Waffles have pockets in them…” He tried to reason.

“If you don’t take it back I’ll hide your Captain America doll.” Matthew threatened darkly, eyeing said doll on the shelf. Alfred’s squirmed more, but was unable to free himself.

“It’s not a doll! It’s an action figure! And fine, pancakes are better. Now get off!”

“Well,” Francis interrupted, now sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the two boys with Arthur by his side, “Now that we have you out of the fort, can we talk?”

The two boys paused, exchanging silent words with their gazes before nodding slowly, re-arranging themselves so they were sitting next to each other.

“Francis and I have talked. We’ve decided that you’ll be staying at this home permanently. And don’t interrupt me until I’m done!” Arthur quickly added, as he saw the twins about to do just that, “Listen, in exchange, Francis is allowed to visit you two at any time. Which means he will be around often.”

“I will cook you dinner as often as I can, do not worry!” Francis interjected, smiling at the two. “Is this all right? For now at least?”

The two boys looked at each other, exchanging a glance and so much more before finally nodding together. “For now.” Alfred repeated.

It always gets worse before it gets better. But it does get better.

 


	6. Chapter 6

The tension was waning, but there was still something there, stopping them.

It felt weird, the first time a week went by and the twins didn't change homes or caretakers. At first, the twins felt bad. They felt like they were giving one uncle preference over the other. But, as time went on, they realized this arrangement was ten times easier than before.

And it wasn't like they never saw Francis; quite the contrary, the man came around all the time. Arthur was surprised he had kept his word. He never really had in the past. If there was one thing the man had learned from being with him for so long was that Francis was very flaky with commitment. The Frenchman, however, blew away his preconceptions yet again (something he had been achieving for quite some time now).

And so, almost every day after school, Francis would stop by and stay for a few hours with the twins. He would usually cook dinner as well, which the boys were especially thankful for. Sometimes, he wouldn't be able to come as often as usual because of work commitments, but he always made sure to visit at least twice a week.

Arthur was impressed.

Of course, he never told the man that. They still fought occasionally, but they tried to make it more subdued and away from the children. Nevertheless, Arthur realized they were fighting much less than ever before even though they were spending much more time together.

"Arthur." Francis hissed quietly, trying to get the other man's attention. The Brit looked up, having been consumed with his own thoughts. What was Francis doing here in the living room? He had been playing catch with the kids outside a few minutes ago. Green eyes peered over to the glass door, seeing the two boys playing catch by themselves, laughing in the June heat.

He turned back to Francis, "What are you doing in here?" He asked, putting the book down, annoyed.

The Frenchman rolled his eyes, "I snuck away for a moment. " He answered, he usually wasn't one to play outside, unless on a beach, but the boy's had begged him. Still, he hated getting sweaty (unless doing  _certain_  activities) and it was much too hot to not. "We need to talk."

"About what?"

"July is in two weeks."

The Brit waited for further explanation when it finally dawned on him. "Shite! I almost forgot." He exclaimed. How could he have forgotten the twin's birthday was coming up?

"We need to organize a party…" Francis continued, looking over his shoulder to make sure the twins hadn't notice them yet. "Per'aps a surprise one?"

"Maybe…We should make it themed after that thing the boys are into. Oh Lord I've forgotten it already. The one with the bloke clad in the American flag and the green man."

"The Avengers."

"Yes that's it!" The Englishman, affirmed, trying to plan the most perfect party he could. He loved to plan. He would make the boy's day for sure. He was adamant about it.

"Uh oh." Francis mumbled out suddenly. Arthur looked up, furrowing his brows at the vocalization. He turned his head to follow the others gaze, finding Alfred peering into the living room, confused.

"Uncle Francis? How come you're takin' so long? Aren't you gonna play?" The young boy asked, pouting a bit. He bit his lip, trying to look sad in order to get the man to come back outside. He was quite good at the tactic.

Francis was no match. "Euh…Of course Alfred! I was just…just trying to get Arthur to come out too! Right, Arthur? He even agreed to play!" He covered quickly.

Arthur spluttered, "I said no such thing!"

Alfred, however, wasn't listening, "Woah! Really Uncle Arthur? You'll play? That's awesome!" He exclaimed, excitedly, his blue eyes shining. Arthur couldn't crush that hopeful face. So, instead, he sighed, getting up from the couch.

He sent the Frenchman a glare, "I'll get you for this, frog." Francis only smiled innocently, following him outside.

The rest of the day was filled with a smattering of giggles and laughs as the broken family played catch. Of course there were some squabbles when Matthew claimed Alfred threw too hard and Alfred claimed Matthew was just a sissy. The 'adults' were no better, in this respect either.

And yet, the air was light and warm in the summer afternoon. There were no worries. No prior betrayals. No sad weights on anyone's shoulders; just the sun's rays, a baseball and the promise of a cool glass of lemonade.

* * *

"Alfred, don't track too much dirt on the carpet, alright?" Arthur scolded lightly as he held the door open for the children and Francis. Alfred ignored him, skipping into the house and toward the kitchen, wanting his lemonade immediately. Matthew followed eagerly behind him, after carefully kicking off the dirt outside. Francis walked leisurely behind them, getting out the lemonade mix for the children.

Arthur hung back for a second, looking at the trio in the kitchen. It warmed his heart and yet prickled his skin to see such a domestic scene. These weren't his children. Francis wasn't his hus—no, best not to even mention the term. They were barely friends. This all felt surreal, and wrong and—

"Arthur? Do you want a cup?" Francis asked innocently, no hint of malice in his voice, as he looked up from serving the children.

Arthur felt a snide remark at the tip of his tongue but swallowed it down. It was surreal, it was wrong but he just didn't really care. "Alright." He answered, coming over to sit beside the twins who happily sipped at their cups.

"Hey, uncle Arthur! Can we watch a movie after dinner? Pretty please?" Alfred asked, looking up at his caretaker with big blue eyes.

"I don't see why not." The Englishman replied, not noticing the awkward fidgeting coming from Francis.

The Frenchman didn't say anything on the matter and simply added, "I suppose I should start on dinner then."

"Can I help?" Matthew spoke up quietly and Francis eagerly nodded. He picked the boy and placed him on the counter as he started gathering the ingredients he wanted.

Arthur decided that was his cue to leave the kitchen and picked up his glass. He stood up, grabbed a new manuscript he had yet to finish reading and took it with him to the family room. However, he didn't get far.

"Dad, where are you going?" Alfred asked innocently, stepping down from his seat as well.

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks, Francis almost dropped a pan and Matthew tightened his grip on the recipe he had been told to hold. Alfred looked sheepishly at the ground.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the Brit turned around to face the small boy. "Alfred…I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear you. What did you say?"

Alfred stared at the ground a moment in the silence. Something seemed to resolve within him and he looked up defiantly. "I called you Dad. So what."

Arthur's eyes widened, shocked at the response. "I'm not your Dad, Alfred." The Englishman replied quickly, feeling the dangerous prickling feeling all over his body once more.

"But you are now! Why can't you be? Why! I want a mom and a dad!"

Before Arthur could even respond, Matthew had hopped down from the counter, "We have a mom and a dad, Alfie!" He shouted defensively, not believing the words his brother was spewing.

"They're gone Mattie! And they're never coming back!" The young boy screamed right back, feeling tears prick at his eyes.

"It doesn't mean you can just replace them like that!" Matthew argued, "They're my mommy and daddy too and I'm not gonna forget them!"

"Boys!" Francis snapped, quieting the two children who were close to tears, "No one's going to replace anyone. No one could. Alfred, we can't be your mother or your father…I know it hurts but we can't."

"I don't even remember what they sounded like." Alfred confessed after a moment, looking at the ground. "I'm starting to forget my dad's face and my mom's laugh and-and—Maybe it would just be better to forget them! Then I wouldn't have to cry no more!" And even though he said that, he started to cry.

"Lad…" Arthur muttered, coming over and hesitating before hugging the boy close, "I know it's hard, to keep that burden in your heart but it would hurt more to try and forget them. Keep them with you. You know they are watching over you?"

"I guess…" Alfred admitted, rubbing at his eyes, "But I hate calling you Uncle Arthur and Uncle Francis. Why cant I call you guys dad and mom too."

Arthur was about to respond why when he was rudely interrupted, "Why am  _I_  the mother?" Francis suddenly asked, causing a slight snicker from Matthew (although the boy had been sniffling only moments ago).

"Because you cook and have long hair and are prettier." Alfred answered easily, as if the answer was obvious. Francis didn't know how to even reply.

Arthur decided to take over once more, "Alfred, it wouldn't feel right to us if you called us mom or dad. I think it's best if you just continue calling us Uncle. I know you want us to be a family, but we can't be perfect. We're trying our best, alright?"

"I guess…" Alfred repeated, giving a slight shrug.

"How about we have a nice dinner and we'll watch whatever movie you want afterwards, alright?"

Alfred seemed to accept this proposal and quieted down enough. Francis and Matthew went back to cooking and the night became peaceful once more. Dinner went well without interruption and soon after Arthur had sent the children to shower and put on their pajamas before the movie.

Francis watched the Brit do so with a slight smile as he did the dishes. He turned away when Arthur looked back over at him. Arthur still saw it. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" The Frenchman asked, pausing in his rinsing.

"The dishes. Let me. You cooked, after all." Arthur quickly covered, walking over briskly and nudging the man away.

"If you say so." Francis shrugged, leaning on the counter a moment, "I guess I'll go soon…"

"You're staying for the movie Francis." The British man replied, without even glancing up. "And that's final."

Francis couldn't help but let out a small smirk.

* * *

The movie turned into a double feature of Toy Story 1 and 2. They had seen it countless times before but Alfred loved the movie to death and hung on every word. However, he and Matthew were the only ones enthralled in the movie despite their familiarity to it.

It had been a long tiring day for the two adults, and they found themselves dozing off. Alfred had forced them to sit all together on the couch, with each child on one's lap and the two grown-ups side by side. For once, they didn't try to fight it when met with Alfred's bright hopeful eyes.

And yet, even as the boys soon migrated to the floor and off their laps, and there were other seats available, neither moved. And it was due to this arrangement that as the credits rolled, the twins turned around to find their uncle Arthur resting his head on his once brother in law, while the other rested it atop Arthur's own head.

Matthew stared at the peaceful scene while Alfred only grinned. "Quick Mattie," He whispered, "Lets get a blanket so they're more comfy!" And with that he dashed up the steps to the supply closet.

"B-But Al!" Matthew tried to hiss out but it was already too late. Alfred had left, "We shouldn't disturb them…" He frowned, watching the pair of normally bickering grown ups sleeping soundly side by side. And for just one second he understood what his brother wanted, what he was obsessed with having. He wanted a nice warm and loving family with no anger or yelling or sadness. A family to return to after school with open arms and hugs and kisses.

And as Matthew turned away, he realized he really wanted the same thing too. Without another thought, the small boy scampered up the steps to help his brother.

Unfortunately, it didn't really go as planned.

Matthew found his twin attempting to pull at one of the blankets on the highest shelf of the hallway closet, and before the boy could even begin to protest, Alfred had already pulled too harshly, bringing the blanket down—as well as the rest of the shelf.

His brother had always been stronger than he looked.

Arthur jerked up at the loud sound, banging his head against Francis'. He yelped and Francis groaned, waking up as well. The pair blinked at each other, and each reddened slightly before inching apart awkwardly.

They looked over at the tv to see the credits rolling. They didn't look back at each other. They heard another loud rattling from upstairs.

"What are those boys up to!?" Arthur broke the awkward silence, getting up. Francis chuckled, following him up the stairs.

They found the young pair attempting to put everything back into the closet as fast as they could. It wasn't really working.

Arthur cleared his throat and the twins swiveled around looking guilty. Arthur tapped his foot and raised a thick eyebrow. He wanted an explanation and he wanted it now.

Alfred pouted, "You guys weren't suppose to wake up…"

"And why not?"

"Because! We were coming to look for a blanket so you wouldn't get cold and stuff…."

Matthew nodded at the explanation, trying to give it some weight. Francis couldn't help but smile, "Well it won't be needed anymore now." He stated, ruffling the pair's hair, "It's time for me to go."

To this the boys looked even sadder, "Do you have to? Can't you sleepover please, Uncle Francis!" The murmured in almost perfect unison.

"I…" Francis faltered, "I've been here all day, boys. I need to go home…I have work in the morning…"

"If I hadn't woken you up with this stupid noise you would have slept and stayed!" Alfred muttered angrily to himself. He'd ruined the entire plan.

"I would have woken up sooner or later and left…" Francis tried to assure, but Alfred was having none of it. "I'm sorry Alfred, but I really must go. Perhaps I can sleep over another time…" He vaguely promised, giving a glance to Arthur as if for approval. The man was looking away.

Francis kept gazing in the hopes the Brit would turn toward him. He didn't. The Frenchman gave a sigh, gave Alfred a smile tinged in sadness and straightened up. "I will see you boys soon!" He added, turning away, and walking down the steps and out of the house.

Matthew frowned, wondering what the gaze and its denial had meant. He looked back up at Arthur to find him watching the now empty stairs, a confused look glazed over his emerald eyes. "Uncle Arthur?" He questioned, getting the man's attention, "Is something wrong?"

"Yes. It's way past your bedtime and you're both up!" The Brit answered with a slight tsk. He ignored Alfred's moan of displeasure as he nudged the boys to their bedroom. Matthew wasn't satisfied with the response, but remained silent.

The tension was waning, but there was still something there, stopping them


	7. Chapter 7

And as the walls break down, we need help to build up new ones.

"You get it now, right?" Alfred whispered, huddled close to his brother under the covers. They should be sleeping by now, but Alfred just couldn't. He had seen the recognition in his brother's violet blue eyes, and he needed confirmation; he was desperate.

Matthew frowned, fidgeting in his place pressed against his twin. Alfred had abandoned his bed for his own and it made it difficult to move about. "Get what?" Matthew muttered, not wanting to answer the loaded question. He rolled over, facing the opposite direction, "I'm tired, Al." He added, wishing to end the conversation. He hoped his brother would get the hint.

"Get why we need to get them to love each other!" Alfred insisted, grabbing his brother's shoulder and rolling him back over. He looked at him pleadingly, his blue eyes dancing with the hope of understanding.

Matthew hated that look. It hurt to see his brother so desperate for approval from him. He tried to look away, but the elder twin was right in his face. He sighed out in defeat, looking up at him, "Yeah, ok…I get it."

Alfred looked more ecstatic then he had been in a long, long time, even more so then the last Christmas they shared with their parents when he had received his first bicycle. "So you'll help right? I have so many plans! You know how we've been watching Disney movies all the time? It's part of it! Like, first we make spaghetti like in Lady in the Tramp. If that doesn't work then we can steal Uncle France's shoe and hide it in Uncle Arthur's closet. And if  _that_  doesn't work we can—"

"Al!" Matthew shushed, pushing his brother off him to sit up. The covers pooled around them in the dark room. Their night light glowed faintly in the corner, keeping the monsters away. "It's never gonna work! You're just making them more mad!" He cried, "You make them fight more!"

Alfred seemed taken aback by the outburst, frowning a little, "But…But Mattie they always fight anyway! I just…I just want everyone to be happy again."

"Al, maybe they are happy just as they are! Maybe it's just you that isn't happy! Stop being so selfish!" He argued back.

And something in Alfred visibly broke within him. Matthew immediately regretted his words, trying to stammer out an apology, but it was too late. The floodgates had opened. Alfred pulled away quickly, covering his face in the dark and trying to fumble over to his own bed.

Matthew followed him rapidly, grabbing his brother's shoulder to try and stop him, "Al I—"

"W-well maybe I'm not happy!" He snapped, and Matthew could recognize the hitch in his brother's breath as he desperately tried to hide the fact he was crying.

"Alfie…"

"I haven't been happy in forever ok!" He shouted, not caring it was in the middle of the night. All his frustrations, his anger, everything bottled up within him was bursting out. "Dad and Mommy left us and-and something in me is now gone too! And I want it back…I want to feel whole again…that's it and—and when I think of Uncle Arthur and Uncle Francis and you and me being a family it…its like when you lose two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle under the couch but then you find two different pieces and even though they don't fit as perfect as the other ones it still works ok! And—and that sounded stupid bu-but I just—"

And by then Matthew was able to bring his brother in to a tight hug, listening as the other babbled on, freely crying into his younger twin's shoulder. "It's gonna be ok, Al. I'll help, I will. I'll…I'll do my best to help. Please stop crying…you're not su-suppose to cry." And Matthew could feel his own eyes tearing up. He couldn't help it, whenever he saw his twin cry he started to himself.

There was a creak in the hallway and the pair froze. "We should get back to bed…" Matthew murmured, feeling his brother nod into his soggy shoulder. He nudged the blond American boy toward his bed, slipping in right beside him and cuddling close.

Arthur turned away from the crack between the door and the wall he'd been peering through. He ran his fingers through his unkempt hair, feeling awful about everything all over again. He had been awoken by the twins' loud cries, and had heard a portion of their conversation.

Something needed to change. He feared for Alfred's mental state… Did he have some sort of depression? Or was he still in grief? Should he contact a therapist? Or should he wait it out? Should he sacrifice his own happiness for Alfred's? Isn't that what parents do?…And…Would fulfilling Alfred's wishes even mean sacrificing his happiness or giving into it?

The last thought loomed in his head and he tried desperately to shake it away. He tried to no avail, as it had firmly planted itself within his mind, making itself at home. Arthur took in a shaky breath, stepping away from the door to return to his own bedroom.

"Never again…I said never again." He whispered to himself fervently, but the doubts creeping in could not be stopped.

* * *

Francis knocked at the door patiently, shifting the weight of the grocery bags in his hands. He still felt odd about his parting the night before. It made him rush through work and cancel one of the events he would have been hosting that night in order to hurry to Arthur's home, ingredients in hand for a nice meal. He always brought his own, one could never trust the things found in the Brit's kitchen.

Speaking of the Brit, he soon opened the door and let him inside. Oddly enough, he did so without a word nor glance. Usually, the Frenchman was greeted with some sort of snide remark. It felt weird being left with silence.

"I brought things for dinner," He began casually, making his way to the kitchen to set the food down. Arthur, though, interrupted him, finally lifting his gaze toward him.

"The twins aren't home."

"…Oh?" Francis paused, furrowing his slim eyebrows in confusion, "When will they get back?"

"They're sleeping over at a friends home. I thought it would be good for them and they wanted to see their friend." Arthur explained quickly.

Francis frowned at that, lifting his bags once more, "Well, you could have told me about the change of plans!" He snapped annoyed at all the effort he had put in for nothing. It had taken a lot of smoothing over to cancel the event on such short notice.

Arthur looked away, resigned, and for a moment Francis almost sensed a look of disappointment from the Brit, which was soon covered by an irritated scowl.

"Not everything revolves around you, you bloody frog." He instead spat back, crossing his arms.

"Right, well fine. I'll be going now then." The Frenchman replied simply with a slight huff. He wasn't in the mood to deal with others quick temper.

Arthur faltered, "Now, hold on a moment! I need to talk to you." Francis raised an eyebrow, stopping his retreat back out the door. He stood there and waited. And waited. Arthur said nothing.

Francis was losing his patience, "Well?"

Arthur glared at him, "I don't need your snide attitude right now, Bonnefoy." He muttered vehemently, before trying to calm his temper. He needed to handle this with more tact. But it wasn't his fault. Everything the damn Frenchman did filled him with such volatile, passionate anger.

"Then just spit it out! Arthur, you may not realize this but I have better things to do then stand here and wait as you flounder about with your thoughts." Francis was surprised at how short he was being. He was usually so calm and collected and patient. But the Englishman did have a knack for bringing about the worst in him.

"This isn't something that I can just spit out, you wine bastard!" Arthur retorted quickly, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

And for a moment, Francis could see a flash of their own pasts. Of the many scenes in which Arthur stood, fists ready to fight before him, arguing over some trivial or not so trivial thing. He remembered how those fights usually ended.

And then Francis remembered all their passionate fiery nights, and he realized the growing sense of warmth that had building in him over the course of the past almost year, and suddenly he felt the strongest desire in the pit of his stomach as he stared into the angry Brit's emerald eyes.

And then Francis did something quite impulsive; he kissed the angry man on the lips.

The Frenchman's hands dug into the others blond hair, fingers pulling his head desperately closer. His eyes were clenched shut, enjoying the kiss as best as he could while still fearing the response he would soon receive.

Arthur, for his part, was in shock, his eyes wide and hands at his side. For just a moment he seemed to relax into the hold, seemed to give back to the kiss. It had been so bloody long since he'd kissed anyone, really. He didn't realize how much he missed the feeling of another body pressed against his. He had never realized how lonely he really was.

But reality soon crashed down and he forcefully pushed the Frenchman away, wiping away at his mouth, "What the bloody hell is wrong with you!" He growled.

And Francis knew exactly what was wrong with him, but the answered did not sit well within him. "I…I—Never mind that, what did you have to say before?"

"Never mind that? Are you mad! You just molested my face and you want me to forget about it?" Arthur shot back, a little red in the face. His heart was racing.

"I got carried away, alright. I'm just a horny bastard or whatever you call me," Francis replied, calming himself down and looking away. He ran his fingers through his long silky hair, wondering why in God's name had he done that. He was supposed to be much better at handling these sorts of situations. "Just…Just tell me what's the problem so I can just leave and we can be at peace for a while longer." He sighed out.

Arthur frowned at the defeatist response, collecting his thoughts on what he had wanted to mention, "I'm worried about Alfred." He said seriously, trying to put away the thoughts and feelings of the surprise kiss. Normally, he would have argued the other to death over it, and perhaps even given him a black eye. But Alfred was more important then their weird feelings and violent tensions, and, although Arthur hated to admit it, problems with Alfred meant he needed Francis' help.

The Frenchman blinked, similarly putting aside their differences, "What's wrong? Did something happen? Is he alright?"

"Nothings happened, he's alright. Well, no. I mean, I'm not sure. See, that's the problem right there. I think he might…might need to start seeing a therapist or something." He rambled out, fidgeting his hands in worry. He honestly had no idea what the bloody hell he was doing. He was no parent. Perhaps he was making a big deal of nothing.

"Why? Did he say something or do something?" Francis probed.

"Last night I heard some shouting, and I went to check on the twins. They were still up for some reason and Alfred was hysterical. He even said he had not been happy at all for a very long time. Not  _really_  happy. And, well, then he went on babbling about not feeling whole, and fixing puzzles and I…"

"What did you do?" Francis asked quickly, worry shone in his eyes.

At first Arthur thought it was an accusation, as if he alone had caused the boys torment. But one look into the Frenchman's blue eyes and he knew he had meant what had he done with this newfound information.

"I…I didn't do anything. I didn't know what to tell him. Matthew was comforting him much better than I could ever do and they both slipped back to bed soon after. And I should have stepped in but I have no idea what I was even supposed to say or do in that sort of situation!"

Francis said nothing, for a while, turning away from the Brit. Arthur almost thought he was going to leave without a word. Instead, however, the Frenchman spun right back around with a determined expression. He pushed his way past the confused Brit, setting his grocery bags down on the counter once more.

"What are you doing? I thought you had to go soon."

"No. We're going to do some research." Francis decided, "I'm going home to get my laptop but you should start now, alright?"

"Research? Research what?"

"How to be a better a parent."

"I don't think that's how it works normally." Arthur replied.

"Well we aren't a normal case, now are we?"

And as the walls break down, we need help to build up new ones.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And voila! Look an update :O
> 
> Sorry its kinda short...orz
> 
> Anyways, so my plan over winter break is to finish this story! I'll be trying to keep you guys updated on my tumblr which is xxfuyukaina-baka(dot) tumblr (dot) com
> 
> Feel free to harass me there to keep me on task
> 
> Anyways I hope you enjoy this one and leave me some nice reviews pretty please
> 
> Thank you guys so much, love you all!
> 
> Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Festivus! Whatever you celebrate.


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